I have no friends.
I need to make (preferably) busty friends next quarter at the University of Washington. I am on Klonapin. I am feeling better on it. USUALLY less anxious. I think it needs to be upped, though, in order for me to be disinhibited enough to approach the beautiful intelligent women at the UW.........
I will FINISH my epic novel.
I will move to Los Angeles to write my Nero script.
I will not settle for less than a $2 million advance.
I will one day be a civil war leader.
I will one day be a civil war hero.
I will one day be Guardian.
I will one day be divine.
I will one day transform Seattle into a Hellenistic megapolis with a population of over 4 million people.
San Francisco and Los Angeles, like Sodom and Gomorrah, will burn because of the magical words of my novel.
Federal Government is my destruction.
Imperial Government is my creation.
I can't wait for Imperial America to happen. Finally, I'll be able to legally smoke weed in a Broadway bud bar. Opium dens will be legal, too. Prostitution, too. But only in certain cities. Now I am rambling. To myself on top of it. To make sure I don't get insomnia tonight. Insomnia usually happens when I don't write enough during the day. I wrote a ton of shit in my journal today, though. It was weird tonight at Bobby Morris Playfield (park off of Broadway & Pine). I was reading my poetry out loud to enjoy its beautiful melody, smoked half of a joint, then the cops swarmed in on the playfield, giving a warning to some loud dreadlocked badass who kept yelling at the police to leave him alone or take him to jail. The drunk didn't leave until his friend physically forced him away, offering to buy him a drink. Very entertaining. That's what I love about living on Broadway. Never have to pay for entertainment except for the chronic I smoke to enjoy it. One Friday night I looked out my sixth floor window and saw a fistfight break out in front of Twice Sold Tales between 2 young black dudes. It was great, except for the fact that their friends tried to break it up. The cops never showed (of course). I love watching the fights that break out on and around Broadway. I record as much of it as I can in my journal. And all the other weird shit that happens on Capitol Hill. For example, the artist-philosopher who puts porn flyers (the kind ya get for free when you order porn, or so I'm told) crappy pornographic DVD's (e.g. Big Boob Cocksuckers 2) underneath the window wiper of some suburbanite's car (or, at least, somebody who bought their car in the suburbs) who parked in front of Seattle Central Community College on Broadway. Most of the pornographic smut this demented artist-philosopher puts on windshields is off Broadway, though. Or so I'm told.......

I couldn't write this goddammned novel without being isolated and look at all the thanks YHWH gives me! Bah! Being divine is both a CURSE and a blesssing. I haven't received my blessing yet....patientence(sp)....I am very frustrated. Brooding in my Capitol Hill studio at The Capitol building like Achilles. Someday I will emerge from being an ascetic and seize my 'immortal glory for eternal time.' Someday I will step upon the stage of America with everybody watching me: either admiring or hating me. Either way brings me pleasure. For to hate me means that you care so STRONGLY about me.

And that brings a tear to my eye.

After I endure/FINISH this muthafukin epic novel.

Blah.

Then I gotta move to downtown L.A. (Gomorrah) to ascend my second step to fame. A big budget film about Nero's life - its budget being no less than Gladiator's, if anything, it shall be considerably more.

The only "friend" I have is somebody who doesn't like to acknowledge that I exist.

Double blah.

Not even knowing if we're gonna remain friends.

Triple blah.

The suffering I endure for my novel. It would not be as good if I did not suffer. I hate to say that, but it's true. No good art or philosophy ever came out of a happy existance.

- S.E.C.